Kings of mud
by RecklessAbandon123
Summary: Klefan AU/AH. 1864 war fic. Two soldiers who both have something to lose. One has already accepted his fate, the other will go down fighting. A story of comradeship, loyalty, loss and love which can blossom even in the most unfortunate of circumstances. Probably slash in later chapters.
1. Prologue

# Kings of mud prologue #  
You're lying on the ground and you know that your back should feel wet from the thick substance seeping into the soil beneath you- your blood or someone else's; you don't remember- but all you feel is the numbness in your limbs.

And the pain. Fire in your shoulder and ice in your whole body. Pain so excruciating that you wish you could just flip a switch and turn it off.

Your eyes are cast heavenwards, your vision swimming in and out of focus, but you can still see the sky. You think that it should be blue and clear, but it has been a while since you saw a sky like that. This sky above you is a muted shade of gray and there are dark clouds of smoke rising towards it. And the bombs. The sky is filled with those.

You feel your senses slowly slipping away; everything is dimmer now, even the pain on your shoulder. You hear the sound of screams and the crushing of the bombs and the shaking of the ground as if they are distant and meaningless. Unable to hurt you anymore.

You think you can hear your name being called with something like despair and agony, but nothing makes sense anymore. The pain is gone and you are resting in a warm, cozy place and you honestly don't want to go back to all the angst and smoke and shouts.

You could stay like that forever, and it feels a lot like giving up, something you have never done in your life. Still, you let go.

But when you hear your name again, it seems to be closer to you and you can finally distinguise the voice- you would recognise it everywhere.

It's his voice, and it manages to pierce through the hazy veil of your mind and drag you away from the warm place where you are and back into the world of pain and suffer. Back to him.

Senses return to you. First the feel of the damp, muddy ground. Then the acid smell of hazardous smoke and gunpowder. And then comes the pain, more unbearable than before, and for a moment that's all you can think about, but then you grit your teeth and clench your fists hard.

You bring the image of bright leaf green eyes to your mind, strong features and a kind smile to your mind. You fight the pain and fatigue and hold onto him. Hold on for him.

Then, wonder of wonders, you can feel him kneeling beside you and holding you for dear life. You can tell it's him even though you don't have the strength to open your eyes and make your sight clear. Your fingers find his and squeeze with all your might.

There are voices around you again, urgent and loud, but all you can hear is his words when he whispers softly to your ear. "It's going to he alright."

You believe him, and only then do you let the darkness that is hovering at the edges of your mind take over you. You're falling and sinking into unconsciousness, but his green eyes never leave your mind, even when darkness becomes all you know. 


	2. Chapter 1: Call to arms

Chapter 1: Call to arms

A/N: This is my new Klefan story. Did I mention that there will be slash? just in case you were wondering. But seriously, not yet. I have a whole plot planned for this fic.

I know that the prologue must be somewhat confusing, but that's what its' supposed to be like :)

I would really appreciate your support. Please let me know what you think whether it's good or bad. Even a smiley or sad face would be enough, because just like me many people don't know what to write when they leave a review. I need at least five reviews before I update, because these chapters are much longer than my usual chapters, thus it takes me longer to write them and plan them.

XXXXX

Stefan

Dear Diary,

It feels strange to be writing to you after all this time, even though I have been doing this for years. Still, every time I opened you and picked up the pen those previous days, my hand would tremble and I would stain the page with black ink without writing anything until I would finally give up and hide you back under the floorboards of my room.

Procrastination is the world Damon would use to describe this if he was here, and I suppose he would be right. Maybe I just didn't want to write about the thing I had been fearing for the last weeks, even before it actually happened. Maybe the realisation hadn't sunk in yet, and I didn't want it to until the very end.

But now I'm leaving tomorrow, and there is no use trying to avoid the inevitable anymore, because this moment feels like the end. I have no illusions about what is going to happen- I didn't have since the letter that changed everything arrived.

And now you're asking what I'm talking about.

I'm leaving for the battlefront the next morning. Mystic Falls is no longer a safe place, and I have to fight. I owe it to the people and to my town. Civil war is dividing us and destroying everything we have managed to build here. Father has always talked to me about the sacrifices the Founders made to make this town the safe place that used to be.

So I will fight; this is what I want.

Stefan Salvatore looked at the last line written on the bottom of his journal's page. He furrowed his eyebrows in concentration, tapping his pen on his desk in a habit he always had when he was nervous or was trying to think something through while writing on his diary.

After a while he sighed and went back to writing, this time tapping his ring unconsciously. That was when he heard his name being called from downstairs. He dropped his pen and stood up, the chair making a scraping sound with the movement, but not before he added a last line to his diary, squinted in dense, small black letters at the very bottom of the page so that they were difficult to read.

This is what I want, but why am I so afraid?

"Stefan, here you are." Guiseppe Salvatore said when he spotted his younger son walking through the door of his study.

He stood up and clapped his son's back "Tomorrow is the big day. How are you feeling?"

"Fine, I guess" Stefan drawled, thinking that it was a little absurd of his father to wait for him to be excited at the prospect of joining the battle and most likely getting killed, but he didn't mention it of course.

At times like this, Stefan was glad that his odler brother Damon had run away with a girl of whom their father would never approve, and yet with whom Damon was madly in love with. At least his brother wasn't called to this lost battle, and for that Stefan was immensely grateful to the Universe.

As if on cue, Guiseppe said, making Stefan's throat tighten. "I know you'll excell son. Unlike your brother, you will make me and the Salvatore name proud."

How could he say that when he knew his younger son's aversion to anything that had to do with war and violence? It was in Stefan's nature to be a pacifist. He was the one who would always break the heated arguements that soon escalated into fights between his brother and his father. Even when he and Damon were little and used to pretend to be soldiers or cover themselves in mud and fight for fun, Stefan thought it wasn't right but always participated in these games because he didn't want to kill all the fun for Damon.

Still, his father refused to acknowledge all these things and wanted Stefan to live up to his expectations, expectations he knew were too high. But what would the point be if he got killed in combat, or was bombarded or some of the wounds he would undoubtedly have got infected? The morbid scenarios were too many to count, and as they flashed before his mind he remained apathetic. "I will not fail you, father."

Guiseppe, seemingly satisfied with his answer nodded once in approval, and then Stefan was free to go. As he trudged up the stairs, suddenly feeling tired, as if he had grown a few decades at once, Stefan thought that there was no point in voicing his thoughts aloud. It might have mainly been Guiseppe's fault that Damon left his family and hometown without looking back and only secretly keeping in touch with Stefan, but Stefan knew that his father couldn't bear the thought of losing the only son he had left.

Even if it meant fooling himself into believing Stefan would come back home alive.

Back into his room, Stefan sat at the edge of his bed and looked around him. He would miss his bedroom with all of his books and favourite objects. He wondered briefly if his father would get rid of his possessions, or if they would just stay in this same room, preys of dust and decay. He couldn't take anything except of the bare necessities with him. His bag was already packed with a few clothes and first aid kit even though they would be given uniforms when he arrived at the camp and resting at the foot of his bed.

He also wondered what words of comfort his brother would say to him if he was there. Stefan imagined that Damon would brush they issue that they would be going to war away like something of minor importance with his usual humour he would call upon even in the direst of situations and his snarky and cocky attitude would actually be enough to put some of Stefan's worries at easy, at least till next morning.

They would have each other's backs if they were battling together like they always did and Stefan would feel better if Damon was with him, but at the same time he wished that he and Elena, the girl he had run away with, didn't come back to Mystic Falls untiil the war was over. If they did, maybe Damon wouldn't have to learn about Stefan's fate.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts that were taking a turn for the worse. He rubbed his fingers against his temples, willing every negative thought away. After all there would be plenty of time for that later, but for now he needed to focus at the task at hand.

Looking at the clock on the opposite wall, Stefan saw that it was getting late. The train that would take the soldiers from Mystic Falls would be leaving early the next morning, and he needed any sleep he could get. Afer all who knew when it would be the next time he would sleep in a bed again?

Before he turned off the bedside lamp and went to bed, though, Stefan lifted the loose floorboard inside his closet and took his pen and diary. He knew it was foolish, but he couldn't leave it behind. It would be a small consolation, having his journal with him where he went, but a consolation nonetheless and something to remind him of home.

With that thought in mind, Stefan dropped the journal at the top of his bag, zipped it and went to bed. He hoped he would be able to get some sleep, but after twisting and turning in bed for a few hours, he finally accepted the fact that he was in for a sleepless night, the first in the many more that would follow.

XXXXX

Klaus

Klaus could hear the soft whimpering coming from Rebekah's door the moment he entered the house. As he climbed up the stairs, the wistful lament grew louder. He heaved a sigh and steeled himself for the emotional talk with his sister that would undoubtedly come and then placed a hand on the knob and pushed the door open.

"Nik?" Rebekah asked sniffing, squinting her eyes to see who it was in the darkness.

"It's me, little sister." he said softly, and that was all Rebekah needed to launch at him.

Her hug made Klaus almost lose his balance, but he soon gained his footing and squeezed back just as tightly.

Without letting go of Rebekah, who had proceeded to bury her face into his shirt and weep, Klaus led them to the bed and helped her sit.

"Don't leave tomorrow. Please, Nik. Not only Elijah, but you also. I can't bear to lose you. Don't you dare leave me." Rebekah whispered fiercely, clinging onto him, but despite her attempt to sound strong, Klaus could see right through her.

Rebekah's world was falling apart in just the span of a few days. She felt lost and weak and helpless, and to claim that Klaus didn't feel the same would be a lie.

However, he couldn't give away any sign of weakness. At the moment he needed to supress his own wild and panicky thoughts of no and I can't and why me, comfort his sister and convince her that he would come home soon even though he himself didn't really believe it.

Still, Niklaus Mikaelson was not one to give up a fight before it had even begun. He always accepted challenges and reveled in his various victories, and the hell if he didn't give his best to get out alive from tye war where he would soon be thrown in.

"Don't worry, Rebekah. I'll come back and when I do everyone will know my name." he said, forcing her head up to look into her teary eyes.

That managed to elicit a small smile from Rebekah, but she wasn't entirely convinced. "Just promise me you and Elijah will be careful at all times. And for heaven's sake, don't let that stubborn mind of yours get you killed, because there will be nothing glorious about your death when I find your bloody ghost and make you pay it."

Klaus chuckled and stood up to leave. When he was at the door, however, his previous amusement died and he said somberly "Just promise me you'll be safe here and spare me one less worry while I fight."

"I'll be fine." Rebekah said, but her point didn't seem so valid when it was shortly followed by a new wave of sobs she tried to choke.

Klaus left, thinking that no matter what he said, he would never be able to put his worries about his younger sisters at rest. Ever since their mother left town with another man when Rebekah was eight years old and Kol twelve, he and Elijah were the one who took care of the two younger Mikaelson children.

Their father was too busy getting drunk till he would pass out at the local pub in an attempt to get over his wife's betrayal, which only led to more violent outbursts than the children were already used to, to raise them properly.

Elijah was the one who sorted everything out so that the town's people wouldn't know what was going on at their house and didn't give Kol and Rebekah to foster care, and Klaus did everything to direct their father's drunken rage away from his siblings in order to protect them.

However, he and his older brother would board the train leaving Mystic Falls to the camp where every male town resident of the proper age should check in: Klaus as a soldier and Elijah as a military doctor.

The one to kill and the other to sake lives. And it was fitting to each one's presonality, really.

Klaus walked into his room after searching the house and failing to find Elijah. Something told Klaus that his brother was saying goodbye to a certain little brunette named Katherine, and he wasn't going to ruin it for his brother by going to the shop were she worked and trying to find him. If Elijah needed the solace of bidding farewell to the girl he loved, then so be it.

He fell with a thud on his unmade bed and he lay like that, carelessly sprawled on the mattress with a leg dangling off the edge of the bed after he pushed his already packed sorry excuse of a sack on the floor. As it landed on the floor, though, it opened, spilling some of Klaus' possessions.

Cursing, he bent down to gather them back into his sack when he noticed an old picture which he had shoved in the bottom of his bag and yet it had managed to resurface. The corners of his mouth tugged into a slight smile as his fingers softly brushed over the picture as if afraid he would ruin it if he touched it too roughly. While Klaus didn't have anyone at town to say goodbye to, seperating with his siblings was one of the hardest things he had ever been called to do.

The picture he was now holding in his hands had been taken when his family had still been whole. Esther hadn's left and she was there to keep Mikael sober and in control of his temper most of the time, Henrik was still alive and all of them seemed young and happy. Klaus would take this photograph with him at the battlefield- the only possession he allowed himself to keep.

He knew that Mikael would most likely sell all of his other possessions if Klaus never returned, but he would never find the picture Klaus had been secretly keeping all those years. He would miss his paints and canvases, but of course he couldn't take with him even a piece of carhoal. There would be no time for sketching and painting where he went. His only paint would be the blood of his enemies on his hands, his canvases the piece of earth that would be used as battlefield his easel and canvas.

A knock on his door dragged him out of his rather morbid musings.

"Come in", Klaus called and at the opening of his door appeared Kol, looking wary and uncomfortable, which to anyone who knew what a little devil the boy was would seem strange, if not comical.

However, Klaus was in no mood to find that fact funny. He gestured for his little brother to enter his room after quickly putting his things back in his bag and hiding the picture in an almost unnoticable pocket sewn in the inside of the sack.

"If you're going to pull the same card on me, don't bother. Rebekah has already beaten you, and I'm going to tell you the same thing I said to her. I know how to survive." Klaus said before Kol could speak.

That was enough to snap Kol out of his state of leaning against the doorframe and gazing dully into the distance. His gaze, for the first time free of that trademark mischievous glint, slightly unnerved Klaus as his brother studied him, as if he was seeing more things than Klaus let show.

He sighed and pushed himself off the doorframe and came to sit on the bed next to his brother. "I know. I just wanted to say goodbye. You know, just in case..." Kol trailed off, biting his lips, ut Klaus didn't blame him.

He knew what Kol meant because he was thinking the exact same thing.

Klaus diverted his gaze as they sunk into a silence that could by no means be described as comfortable, but when suddenly Kol's hand shot to grab his own, Klaus had to look up again. "I'll take care of Rebekah and make sure Mikael behaves." Kol said forcefully, and there was such a fierce and determined fire burning in his eyes that Klaus had to stop for a moment and wonder when his little brother had turned into a young man, no longer as little as he thought him to be.

Even though Kol was known for his impulsive nature and overly-boosted ego, at that moment, when he said that he would protect their little sister with the unheard 'with my life' hanging in the air between them, Klaus actually believed him.

"That's all I need to know. But also make sure to look after yourself as well."

Kol's lips curled upwards, but instead of his usual sneer or smirk of amusement, it was a genuine smile. A little wistful one but a smile nonetheless. A hug, and then Kol was out of the door. Klaus knew that this was the last he would see of his siblings. Their father wouldn't let them go to the train station the next morning, and as reluctant as Klaus was to leave them behind, this was the last goodbye he would get.

As midnight neared, all of the lights of the house closed and he was left laying wide awake in the dark. Even though Klaus had taken a walk earlier that evening to calm his nerves that were on edge, he was still fidgeting and knew he wouldn't get any sleep any time soon. Not now and certaintly not in the battlefield.

He heard Mikael come home and cause a little rumpus in his drunken state, but his sounds of trying to get to his room soon died down and Klaus would bet that he had passed out the moment his head touched the pillow.

A few more hours passed, and when Klaus couldn't take the silence of the sleeping house anymore with only him feeling like a restless ghost, he left his bed and quietly walked out in the hallway. He went to his siblings' room to check up on them, a habit he had develped ever since their mother left.

Rebekah was tucked under her bedcovers that reached over her head, only leaving her hair visible. Despite that, Klaus could tell she was thrashing restlessly in her sleep, perhaps because of a nightmare, or the most plausible explanation was that in fact she was not sleeping at all, but rather crying for the depsrture of her brothers. Klaus couldn't bring himself to go into her room and comfort her.

The same happened with Kol when Klaus silently walked by his room and saw him sat on the bay window despite the late of the hour.

Klaus told himself that it was better if he distanced himself from them from now. It would be so much easier for both his younger siblings and him. Suddenly, he felt very tired. In fact, he hadn't felt that fatigue seeping into him for a long long time. He stalked into his room, closed the door and then slid with his back down the wall, laying slouched on the floor and for a few moments letting it take over him.


End file.
